


John's Jumpers ❦

by Sinlesschick6



Series: The wardrobe series [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Adult John Watson, Angst, Character Death, Feelings, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, John's Jumpers, John-centric, Jumpers, Kid John, Love, M/M, Not main pairing death, Sherlock has feelings, Teen John
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-08
Updated: 2013-12-08
Packaged: 2018-01-04 00:10:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1074690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sinlesschick6/pseuds/Sinlesschick6
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Why does John Hamish Watson always wear jumpers? </p><p>Because his mum loved him very much, that's why.</p>
            </blockquote>





	John's Jumpers ❦

**Author's Note:**

> Just a crazy fun and fluffy idea that I wanted to share with the world.

~~~~~~ (❦) ~~~~~~

Mrs. Watson loved her little baby John Hamish. Well, little wasn’t quite the correct term, at six months he was already twenty four pounds. And while that wasn’t necessarily too large for an infant, John was not very lengthy. So what if John was short and pudgy? Did it make him any less adorable? No. Did it mean his mother would love him any less? Of course not, if anything, she loved him more, because there was a little more to love.

 

She hadn’t realized how difficult it was to shop for a baby who was wider than he was long. She started her search in the six month old’s, but nothing was large enough. Then she had tried shopping in the older infant section, but everything was just too long. Mrs. Watson felt unsettled every time she brought John out, not because of him, but because of others. Their wide eyed expressions, as if they had never seen a round tot before. But their expressions were as absurd as their comments. They went from “Oh, aren’t you just the pudgiest, wudgiest little babe that there ever was?” to things like “What the bloody hell have you been feeding that thing?” And Mrs. Watson wouldn’t stand by and allow simple minded people to talk about her about her baby John like that. She may have been short, but she could make herself tall when she needed to protect the ones she loved.

 

The other problem was the money, which the Watson family had little of- not poor, but enough to get by with a little extra on the side. So there was no way John could have custom made clothes from the shops.

 

But maybe Mrs. Watson had another idea up her sleeve.

 

 Quite often her husband, Mr. Watson, looked at their son, then to his daughter, Harry, who was 4 years old, and then back to John. He looked as if he were assessing them, comparing the two tots. And one day he glanced up at his wife and said, “You think maybe we should put the boy on a diet?”

 

Harry looked up. “Daddy, what’s a biet?”

 

“Diet. It’s when you eat healthier, or less.”

 

“Oh Yeah! If John did that, maybe I could pick him up and hold him more easier.”

 

Mrs. Watson was appalled at her husband, just for suggesting it. She picked her son up and placed him upon her hip. So what if he was a little heavy? He would grow and stretch out. “I am not putting our _baby_ on a diet- he’s too young.”

 

“Well, he’s too big. Can’t you- I dunno- change his formula or something?” 

 

Mrs. Watson rolled her eyes. “This is why only the woman should play mother.” She mumbled. “Besides, he isn’t on formula.”

 

Her husband sighed, turning back to the television. “Sorry I said anything.”

 

She put her chin up and carried her babe out of the room. She had a surprise waiting in his nursery.

 

“So Johnny baby, what do you think?” She held up the newly knitted, oatmeal jumper. She had stitched in a blue aldus leaf on top of the heart to make it special, no one else in the world would have one.

 

Her baby cooed, attempting to grab at the fabric with his small hands.

 

“You like what mommy made you?” She pulled it on over his head. “Yes, I think you do.” It was a perfect fit. It was large enough to make him appear small, and just long enough so that he may have room to grow but still looked about his size. “I bet you feel just as snug as you look.”

 

John seemed to glow. He looked even happier now that the jumper was on. The baby put one handful of sleeve into his mouth, gumming and chewing with his one baby tooth. It soaked the drool right up, and John smiled.

 

“I think I’ll just have to knit you up a whole wardrobe, now what do you have to say about that?” She picked her child up, raising him above her head.

 

John giggled and squealed in excitement, giving a clear answer.

 

 

Mrs. Watson loved her little baby John Hamish, very very much.

 

And made him plenty more jumpers to wear.

   

 

 

 

~~~~~~  (❦) ~~~~~~

 

 

 

 

Mrs. Watson passed away right before John finished primary school. The doctor told them it was Arrhythmia, which John looked up later and read it was the name for sudden cardiac arrest. And sudden it was. It didn’t even make sense as to why it happened, to Mrs. Watson of all people. The doctor explained that it didn’t help that she was struggling with her weight and a type B diabetic, which she kept to herself.

 

The Watson family seemed to disperse after her death. Mr. Watson took to drinking, Harry began to rebel, spending most of her time elsewhere, and John- Poor lonely John, who only ever relied on his mother’s love, was lonely. Lucky for him the other students at school wanted to become his friend, even if it had been just pity.

 

Well, it began as pity, but then classmates realized that John was a pretty likable boy. He thought it was strange that the first years of his life it was difficult to make friends, let alone get someone to talk to him. He knew that part of it had to deal with how short he was, people assumed he was in a younger grade level. He was teased because of his height, that and his jumpers. The other kids told him they made him look poor, and fat. But John knew he wasn’t fat, so he wasn’t all that bothered. Besides, he loved his jumpers, his mother made them for him, so the other kids quit teasing him for it.

 

 

It was when he outgrew the last jumper his mother made him, that he realized she was never coming back and that hurt more than the day she died or the day of her funeral.

 

 

 

~~~~~~  (❦) ~~~~~~

 

 

 

He tried to live with Harry and her partner, Clara, when he started medical school at St. Barts. He would have stayed at home, but he didn’t really have one since Mr. Watson sold it to buy more booze in order to drink himself to death, which he inevitably did. So he thought it would be good for both Harry and him if he stayed close, but her drinking got out of hand and when he confronted her, she blew up at him. Why did John think that would work? The two sibling never got along.

 

Fortunate for him, he had been good at making friends, so he split a dorm with his mate Mike Stamford. He was a skinny bloke and a lightweight, but he was kind and had offered to help him out.  

 

He got in a fight with Harry the night he had packed up his things to leave. Told him ‘not to come sniveling to me when you need help ever again.’ Then made comments about his weight, which he ignored because he knew they weren’t true. She ‘bout threw a half empty beer bottle at him before he could pack away his small oatmeal colored jumper. Not one that fit, but one he kept for his mother’s sake.

 

It was the last he had of her other than pictures.

 

 

 

~~~~~~  (❦) ~~~~~~

 

 

 

A man can’t take jumpers to the battle zone and he couldn’t entrust it with his kin, Harry would no doubt destroy it. So he got a safe deposit box to keep it in. It was strange, but it was the only thing he could think of.

 

 

Later, when he was stitching up wounded men and being shot at, he prayed that he would see it again.

 

 

 

~~~~~~  (❦) ~~~~~~

 

 

 

As soon as John was discharged due to his wounds, inside and out, he retrieved his safe deposit box and then went shopping for a closet full of jumpers. It was a dumb move on him, seeing as he still needed to buy a place of his own and food for the month. No way in hell was he going to his sister for help.

 

He did visit Harry, though, when he got back- bad idea- but he thought that there was a slim chance she had changed her way. Dead wrong. If anything, she was worse. Clara had left her, giving her reason to drink more. She must have been at a low point, because she was practically begging him to stay, she needed someone to be angry with no doubt. But John declined, making her even more furious. She called him a few names, ‘lazy fat-ass’ and ‘chubby git.’ And then she threw her phone at him, telling him to be useful for once and take it.

 

It was the phone from Clara.

 

He didn’t mind that much, free phone, and he knew he wasn’t fat. He had just gotten back from Afghanistan, he had to stay fit. He was fit.

 

He limped back to his place, back to his tower of jumpers and put one on for bed. He had purchased an oatmeal colored one to help him with nightmares, but it just wasn’t right. It was missing it’s purpose. Not just the symbol, but its creator.

 

Some nights he dreamed of the battlefield, but on others he dreamed of his mom.

 

 

 

~~~~~~  (❦) ~~~~~~

 

 

 

He wasn’t wearing a jumper the day Mike brought him to Sherlock, maybe that was why he felt so uncovered. Or maybe it was because he could tell the man was studying him.

 

But for some reason, instead of feeling frightened, he felt excited.

 

‘Maybe now someone will see me.’

 

 

 

~~~~~~  (❦) ~~~~~~

 

 

 

After Sherlock jumped, not even the first jumper his mother knitted could comfort him. Why should it, he was a grown man, latching onto old things was childish.

 

He still couldn’t bring himself to toss it out.

 

 

 

~~~~~~  (❦) ~~~~~~

 

 

 

Sherlock was tall, not quite as tall as Mycroft, much to Sherlocks dismay seeing as everything is a competition, but still he was far taller that John. Tall and lean, with muscle. He was pale, but John didn’t dislike it, it suited him.

 

Not that John liked it either.

 

Not that he noticed Sherlock. Or the dip of the cupids bow he had. Not that John ogled at his lips long enough to know. Just like he didn’t know that Sherlock’s eyes were grey, nearly crystalline, sometimes shining with a piercing green or blue.

 

John glanced back down to his laptop when he realized those eyes were on him.

 

“John?” He felt himself flush at Sherlock’s voice- no he didn’t flush, he was a man, Sherlock was a man. They were both men.

 

He gazed up from his laptop he wasn’t really looking at. “What is it, Sherlock?”

 

“You were staring.”

 

“Er, when?” John went back to avoiding the grey eyes.

 

Sherlock’s face scrunched up. “Don’t act foolish John, you were staring at me just now.”

 

He waved his hand about. “I was staring off into space, don’t get upset about it, you do it.”

 

“I do no such thing!”

 

“Yes, you do.”

 

“When? When would I ever do such an idiotic thing like that?”

 

“All the time.” John mumbled, but Sherlock wasn’t listening.

 

“Staring off into space- Space is elsewhere, up there. I never cared for the solar system, you know that.”

 

John rolled his eyes as Sherlock continued to ramble on.

 

 

 

  

~~~~~~  (❦) ~~~~~~

 

 

 

It didn’t take long after that for Sherlock to realize why John was always watching him and then denying it when he was caught. Sherlock had suspected John’s feelings long before his ‘suicide’ because he held similar feelings himself. Yes feelings, who would have guessed?

 

That was why he would declare his love, in a way not even ‘I’m not gay’ John Watson could say no.

 

He rummaged through John’s drawers, searching for something, “Ah, this will make due.” He felt the fabric in his hands. “Yes, brilliant, perfect.”

 

 

 

~~~~~~  (❦) ~~~~~~

 

 

 

Sherlock was acting strange, well stranger than usual.

 

“Why are there knitting needles on the coffee table?” John arched his eyebrow towards his flatmate.

 

Sherlock reached down and snatched them. “There aren’t.” And then he stomped off to his room.

 

“Well-“

 

 

 

~~~~~~  (❦) ~~~~~~

 

 

 

John was panicking. It was gone, he had it sitting in his bedside table and now it was gone.

 

“Sherlock!” He called down the hall, no answer. He thumped the door. “I’m coming in, so you best cover up.”

 

What John saw brought him to a halt. Sherlock was nowhere in sight, but something was left on the bed and somehow he knew it was for him. He crossed the room, eyes never leaving the object, he was mesmerized. He reached down, but was afraid to touch it.

 

“Like it?” The deep voice startled him.

 

“Sherlock, what-what is this?”

 

“It’s for you, I made it for you.”

 

John couldn’t help but chuckle. “ _You_ made _this_?”

 

Sherlock furrowed his brows. “Yes, why is that so hard to believe.”

 

“Sherlock, you don’t make things. You don’t even make your own bloody tea, so sorry if I’m having a little trouble-“

 

“It makes you happy.”

 

It wasn’t a question, but John still answered. “Yes.”

 

“Good.”

 

“Is this-?”

 

“I took the original design out of your mother’s. Mrs. Hudson showed me how to knit properly, it was simple really. Even Anderso-“

 

“Thank you.”

 

They stared at each other, blue eyes into grey. “It was nothing, John.”

 

“Then why do it?”

 

“To make you happy. I want to be with you and I know you want to be with me.” He put up his long hand before John could interject. “No use in denying it.”

 

“No, there isn’t.”

 

Sherlock’s face emitted a moment of surprise, as if he was expecting John to reject his comment. Which surprised John as well.

 

 

 

~~~~~~  (❦) ~~~~~~

 

 

 

They laid in bed together that night, bare. Sherlock held onto John, wrapping his arms around the smaller man’s body. It kept him warm and comforted. But somewhere in the back of John’s mind, there was doubt. There was a voice that told him he was unworthy. It was the voice of his classmates, his father, and Harry. He didn’t fit with Sherlock. Look wise, they didn’t fit.

 

“Too loud.” Sherlock’s voice stopped the other’s in his head.

 

“I didn’t say anything.”

 

“You didn’t have to. It’s an idiotic thought if you think yourself unworthy because of your body. You are quite fit.”

 

“I’m not.”

 

“Don’t be stupid, John. If you were fat, I would tell you. Just as I tell Mycroft.”

 

John chuckled and Sherlock joined in.

 

He felt better, but not entirely. Something was missing.

 

“Use me John, use me.” John let out his breath and allowed his body to be consumed by Sherlock’s.

 

That night, Sherlock was John’s Jumper.

 

 

 

~~~~~~  (❦) ~~~~~~

 

 

 

Hanging off of the back of a chair was John’s jumper. One that was an exact replica of the one Mrs. Watson had knitted him when he was just a babe, only larger. But this one was different, this one was knitted by not just one, but two people he loved the most. The sweater, an oatmeal colored one, done with the skill of his genius lover, Sherlock. And then, just over the heart, a small blue leaf, knitted by his mother long ago, to make it special.

 

 

❦Fin

**Author's Note:**

> So there will be more. Next is Sherlock and his scarves. So if you wanna find out, stay tuned.
> 
> Tell me what you think-  
> Thank you for reading! <3


End file.
